


Do Me a Favor, Forget Me

by myerscore



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Friday the 13th Series (Movies), Halloween (2018)
Genre: Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Everyone Is Gay, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Mom Voorhees is there for a bit, Murder Husbands, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-08-23 20:12:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16625660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myerscore/pseuds/myerscore
Summary: It's Micheal Myers' first day at summer camp, and a certain boy catches his eye. It's not too long before he's gone, leaving Micheal a distraught mess.Micheal returns to that fateful night at Camp Crystal Lake, and finds out that there's more dwelling there than meets the eye.





	1. Camp Crystal

**Author's Note:**

> First post, but definitely not my first fanfiction! Hopefully you guys are also into long winded descriptions of nostalgic places as I am (There's a lot of that) And non-murdery baby Micheal!

“Go on, Michael.” His mother encouraged him, giving a light shove towards the dirt path. “It’s only for a few days, I promise.” She looked at him, a comforting smile arisen on her face as he pouted, arms tight around each other. “Should I walk you?” She asked, hugging him before turning to the car again. He shook his head. “No.. I’ll be fine..” He mustered.  
It’s not that he didn’t like the water, or the cool smell of pine, or even the bugs. It was the others. How was he supposed to even interact? The questions buzzed in his mind as his mother drove off, leaving him with a tall brunette counselor, who wore her hair in two twin braids which swung in front of her chest. She wore a ringer-tee shirt with the titular camp logo and athletic shorts to match.  
“Hey there, kid. Michael, right?” She bent down onto her knees to get a better look at him.  
Michael nodded, lowering his arms to his sides, still tense but more relaxed. “C’mon, you wanna meet the other kids?” The counselor asked. Michael shook his head once more, his curly hair flying onto his face.  
“Oh, it’ll be fun, come on, kid!” The counselor started to jog lightly as she waited for Michael to follow, which he did, albeit reluctantly. 

He entered from the gravel path into the camp. A wooden sign hung above the path, “Camp Crystal Lake.” It declared, framed on either side by mammoth pine trees. It was then when the smell really hit him; rough gravel and sand kicked up by cars, the sweet coolness of pine, the thick aura of wood always present, and the chemical smell left by bug spray and sunscreen. Acres and acres of cabins lured off into the distance, only marked by dirt paths and sticks of wood declaring the cabin number. There was a great lake stretched out before him, its surface shimmering and glittering under the sun. A dock jutted into the lake’s surface, surfboards and motor boats moored to it. The very sight of the camp is stunning; however backwoods it seemed.  
Just then, another car drove up, further into the path than he expected. He coughed as dust kicked up from the ground.  
“Oh my, I’m sorry, son!” A voice called from the side of the road. It was an older woman; blonde-greying hair with wrinkles edging her mouth and eyes. She wore a dull blue cable knit sweater. Michael recognized the knitting as being handmade as he studied her, her face gentle but somehow commanding at the same time. It is kind but demands respect at the same time. “I’m Miss Voorhees. I expect you and the other campers to get along just fine with my darling son.” She said, beaming politely. Michael was still reeling a tad, but nodded and returned his best smile, revealing his crooked teeth from the side of his face. Michael’s counselor waved politely as a click from the back of the car signalled Ms. Voorhees’ son. 

Now, Michael’s mother taught him not to be rude, but his gut reaction was not so pleasant. The boy that emerged from the car was abnormally tall and quite skinny for his age. But what struck Michael was his face; the left half of his face was quite deformed. His skull was irregular in some places, with thick, almost scarred skin nearly covering his left eye. His face drooped with the skin, and his eye was likely lazy due to it. There was little hair growing on his head, and it was a dark red color.  
As Ms. Voorhees exited the car to excitedly speak to her son and help him with his things, Michael caught his eyes over the car. They were as clear and as blue as the lake’s surface itself, glittering with some unknown emotion. They were so pure, so clear.. He couldn’t help but stare. Michael was jolted out of his trance when his counselor put a hand on his shoulder, jerking her head in a “come on” motion. He followed her, glancing back at the boy.

Michael was escorted to a group of boys his same age. He didn’t seem to be accepted into the group right away, but the other kids respected his silence. The boy from the car, however, he saw going straight to the boy’s cabin with an older counselor. Michael guessed that he had some health issues and didn’t want to play soccer or football with them, even though he could sit off to the side like himself. His thoughts never drifted from the boy even as a soccer ball whizzed past and hit him squarely in the face. He heard a hurried apology as one of the boys retrieved his ball and ran back. Michael pressed his hand to his nose, blood dripping from it and onto the gravel. His counselor had run off somewhere, so he decided to head to the cabin for now. He held his hand to his nose and opened the door, the boy nowhere in sight. He headed to the bathroom (which contained no running water anyways) and grabbed a handful of tissues, holding them to his face with pressure as his mother had taught him to do several times before.

He walked out- straight into another figure, almost head on. He groaned as he fell backwards onto the wooden planks; prepared to apologize for himself but quickly interrupted by who he had run into. It was the boy, who seemed to be awfully distraught. In a hushed, throaty voice, he said “‘Ahm sorry..” with what seemed to be great difficulty. He extended a hand, using the other one to point to himself as he helped Michael up. “Jay.. Jason.” he murmured.  
“Michael.” he returned, returning the tissue to his nose. Almost without thinking, Michael blurted, “What’s with your face?” and a moment of silence took its place. Jason looked sort of solemnly to the ground. “Ahlways.. Like this.” He answered. “Buh-But doesn’ hurt.” he affirmed as he saw the look of concern on Michael’s face.  
Michael nodded, feeling his face heat up with embarrassment. Why did he say that? Was that rude? He stalked away, trying to smile back but ending up looking sarcastic. But Jason seemed fine with it. Michael wonders if he’s ever been bullied like him, because of the way he looks or acts. Who would hurt him? That’s awful. He decided in that moment to make sure nothing happened to Jason, remembering the stern look on Ms. Voorhees’ face.


	2. Defense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micheal defends his friend, who appreciates it to no end.
> 
> But what he doesn't realize is that it may be his last chance.

A couple days pass, and rarely does anyone see Jason much. When they do, they sit away from him. They keep him out of games and activity, finding some way to ridicule or put him down. But Michael silently stands with him, voluntarily sitting out and with him. They don’t talk much and often, Jason initiates conversation with Michael listening. But he doesn’t mind learning more about his new friend, his hobbies and favorite colors, foods, et cetera. He even offered to teach Michael a bit of woodcarving, which he does in secret. He tells him that his mother doesn’t like him working with the sharp knife, even though he’s capable. Mama is very nice and loves him a lot, that’s why.  
Michael doesn’t get it, but he understands, for his friend.

One kid walks up to him during a sharpshooting lesson, a time where he was seemingly without Jason. “Hey, why do ya’ sit with that freak?” he asks. As soon as those words leave the kid’s mouth, Michael feels his blood boil.  
“Freak?” Michael echoes.  
“Yeah, the kid with the screwed up face!” The kid makes a crude gesture with his hands to indicate Jason’s scarring and eye. “Why ya’ sit with him? Ain’t he weird?”  
Michael grimaces and sneers, feeling his canines poke against his lips. “How’d you like.. Like it if someone called you that…?” he growls. Why couldn’t these kids just leave Jason alone? There wasn’t anything different about him. He was just a kid, like the rest of you.  
The kid looks confused, but stomps off in a huff without answering Michael’s question. “Coward…” Michael whispers as the kid stormed off.  
“What’s that?” The kid turned around, apparently heeding Michael’s comment.  
“I said…” Michael struggles to repeat himself, but his anger thinks much faster. “Fucking.. Coward.” The kid drops his bow and arrow in place, leaping at Michael, fists outstretched. After a tussle on the ground, the kid punches Michael repeatedly, dust flying up madly as the two boys’ fight ensues. “Hey! Stop!” Michael hears the voice of his red-headed counselor faintly as his vision blurs into spots, blood no doubtedly spilling from his nose and lips. The woman violently tears the other kid off of Michael, throwing him back against another counselor. She grabs Michael by the shoulders, shaking him lightly. “C’mon Michael! Stay awake for me, alright?” She begs, but Michael’s view slowly fades into black as he takes in a breath of coppery blood and lilac perfume. 

Michael wakes up on a cot, reaching his hand up to feel his face. A large bandage is attached to his lips and nose with medical adhesive, as the pain finally seems to hit him. He didn’t even know there was a medicinal cabin out here, but he sure enough sat in a medical-styled room with a tiled floor, medical supplies lined up on the cot opposite of him. Among them were bloody bandages, tissues and anti-bacterial cream. With his vision slightly impaired, he didn’t even see Jason sitting near-opposite him on a folding chair, the braided-hair counselor standing nearby. “Sorry..” Jason muttered, almost ashamedly. “You don’t.. Don’t have anything to be sorry for…” Michael said. “It was that kid’s fault. He was being so mean about you.”  
Jason got up from the chair as Michael sat up on the cot, trying to explain himself. But almost before he knew it, Jason had his arms firmly around Michael in a hug, as Michael knew by now, physical gestures being his primary communication. Michael hugged him back, not too tightly, as some injury had also developed on his wrist and arm.

Michael soon learned from his counselor that the kid was evicted from camp until next year.

It's Thursday 12th, as Michael checks off the calendar he brought with a sharpie. He couldn't believe that it was just one more day of camp. He already misses the lake, his counselor…   
Jason.   
They'd become good friends by now, with Michael's intent listening and innate protection, Jason had been using less gestures and trying to speak more politely, even more clearly than usual. It was nearing dusk, nightfall, as Michael sat out on the long dock with the light of the cabins far behind him.  
The water was silent apart from the dripping of his legs and a bit of his hair. He leaned far down into the water to get a good look at himself when he heard quiet padding from behind him. Jason needed no introduction at this point, so he sat down next to Michael and copied his motion, his own Auburn hair falling lightly onto the lake's surface. He giggled slightly, watching the ripples.   
Michael smiled sincerely for the rare times in his life.  
But he didn't exact expect Jason to grope at his hand for a minute, before placing it firmly in his own with a light squeeze. The skin on his hand was rough with light, white cuts over it's surface, Michael guessed from woodcarving. Somehow it didn't embarrass or fluster him, even though he felt a blush creeping onto his cheeks. Jason was pleasantly warm in contrast to the cool air coming off the lake, which chilled Michael ever so slightly. Jason was staring into the water with a fascination. Michael scooted closer, slowly laying his head onto Jason's shoulder.  
He smiled.


	3. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something goes awry at Camp Crystal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:)

Michael felt something in his gut the next morning. A deep seeded feeling filled him with dread, even though he didn't know why. Of course, 13 was an unlucky number and the day itself was rare, so that's what he told himself was up with today.  
Jason slept in a bunk that was sort of off from one of the cabin rooms, nearly one of his own, while Michael slept in the front room with a handful of other boys. But as he searched, he frantically realized that Jason was not there, nor in the other cabins nearby. It was early in the morning of the last day at camp, the mock awards ceremony hours away. Where was he? Michael tramped onto the dirt path leading back to a bonfire pit, a place where he often snuck away, since he enjoyed the forest. He wasn’t there.  
“Hey, kid? Why you up so early?” He heard the voice of his counselor, who was dressed in an oversized flannel and too-short shorts, her hair mussed up and hanging low over her shoulders.   
“Jason. He’s not here.” Michael spat out, growing increasingly worried with every motion, every word.   
“I thought I saw him go into the forest off the path, but I was, er… busy.” She said, cupping a hand over Michael’s shoulder. “Go back to bed, Mikey.” She said, trailing off back to the largest cabin; the one housing the counselors. He nodded, but knew he wouldn’t follow instruction.

But he snapped to attention when he heard the commotion off in the distance. A visceral yelling filled his ears, and he almost heard the blood spill. He sprinted out to the source; the docks.   
All of the children, boys and girls were congregated around a single figure laying in the dust beneath their feet. They were yelling and screaming, kicking and throwing their fists into the air as they advanced on the kid.   
It was Jason, laying in the dust surrounded by ribbons of blood. Michael was as still and as frozen in place as an ice statue, his very blood chilled by the act he witnessed next.

They hefted the much larger boy up, marching to the ends of the docks. He pleaded with whatever semblance of speech he had left as they tossed him off the wooden docks and into the unforgiving camp waters.   
Michael’s muscles moved all at once as he fumbled from his hiding spot behind the cabins, pushing back the others with brute strength. But the boy in front, the short yet broad shouldered ‘leader’ caught the back of Michael’s shirt just as his foot left the planks. He threw Michael to the ground, planting a booted foot onto his back. Michael kicked and shoved, crying out against them.   
Exhaustion and pain quickly took the place of his white hot anger as the adrenaline in his body slowly dripped out, and he caught Jason’s eyes for the final time as he slipped below the surface of the water, air escaping his throat.  
Where the hell were these goddamn counselors?   
For the entire time he’d been here, the only counselor who even seemed to care or put forth effort was his own; the redhead. She seemed to be the only one there, aside from fleeting glances of shaggy-haired men wearing camp uniform, rarely showing up and mostly to supervise.  
But she was gone, even as the sun rose over the horizon and through the pines. Michael was left on the docks, spared for some ungodly reason from earning himself a watery death. He looked into the lake. It shone and glittered, the same as the first day, with no remorse or sympathy. But now, its glint took on the same evil shine reflected in the boys’ eyes as they cackled and strode off back to their lodgings.

That afternoon during awards, Michael wriggled away from his mother’s protective arm and ran into the forest.  
“Michael! Where are you going??” His mother called after him, tripping over her high topped heels in the rough terrain. But his legs gave out from under him after running over something. Even with the tears blurring his vision as he neared the bonfire pit, the saw what it was. A stump, with a machete firmly lodged into it. Nothing out of place, he supposed, but he could have sworn it wasn’t there before. He heard his mother behind him, and he couldn’t stifle a whimper, the cuts on his legs from the docks opening up.  
“Michael, Angel! What are you doing, running away?” His mother grasped his hand, pulling most of his weight into a firm embrace.   
“Jason.. He.. he..” Michael choked, as he felt more tears well. “They killed him..”  
His mother’s eyes opened wide, an expression of terror filling her face, something visceral playing on her lips. “Angel.. What happened?” She asked, brushing loose golden locks from Michael’s face. Michael only pressed back into her neck, biting his bottom lip until blood dripped. She recognized this, and she held him as tight as she could.


	4. Not Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micheal re-meets someone from his past, and to his dismay, isn't as he remembered.

For years, Michael blocked out every instance of Camp Crystal Lake possible. His mind, however, always lingered on its events. He wondered, imagining what happened. What had Ms. Voorhees, an elderly old woman, have thought? Her only son dead? And at what expense of the counselor’s indifference..   
He knew it used to be in business, but heavily obscured and censored events had it permanently, but one headline always sort of scared him.  
It was a murder at the camp. Someone went in and killed all those counselors who were training for the summer, the body of the murderer never even found. And what happened, years later? Another massacre at the camp, further cementing the nature of violence displayed at the first scene.  
Michael figured that the camp was cursed, or haunted or something. Although never entirely religious or skeptical, he could never shed the thought that it might be Jason, a revenge for his treatment.  
Some part of Michael begged him to find out. So, one suffocatingly hot summer break, he decided to see for himself.

He loaded his car with supplies, but figured he wouldn’t need much. Flashlights, food,(obvious) and a simple foldable tent he took, while leaving a note for his parents that he’d be out camping with a friend in New Jersey. They didn’t care, and wouldn’t even if he left for Texas.  
Michael’s grip on the steering wheel never lessened when he pulled off the road and onto the rough, unpaved gravel surrounded by forest. He clicked on the flashlight, illuminating a large sign. This was Camp Crystal, alright, even though the wood-and-stone sign was creeped over with ivy and tall grass. Years of carelessness plunged the camp into an unrecognizable state, far from its prim and proper kempt of Michael’s younger years. Something made Michael stop, however. Something just wasn’t right. It was off putting, just like that day. What was it?  
Friday the 13th. Every massacre at the camp, the few bodies found, were determined to happen on Friday the 13th, or the weeks leading up to it.   
Despite these quite obvious warning signs, Michael pressed on. He was determined to know what happened, as he vaulted over the metal gating designed to deter intruders. Yes, this was a crime scene, but its case was long dead. Michael was sure that there were more important things going on for the police ‘round here to deal with anyways.  
He’d wished he hadn’t pushed that on himself.

The skies were dark, rain threatening to burst forth from the deep grey clouds above him, but he held an umbrella tight in his hands. He stopped pacing to crouch in the dirt, examining something upturned. But when he shined the flashlight on it, the smell took him aback. Damn hunters. A rabbit lay on its side, chunks of meat and viscera engrained in the dirt, and it almost seemed that it was in the process of being skinned or gutted, a sharp carving knife embedded in the small thing. They must come out here for the free game. Probably some guy’s prized spot, as nobody’s touched the place since the case went cold, sometime in October.   
He walked the grounds up to the entrance, and it suddenly all came back to him. He could almost feel the light breeze off the lake, children playing and the coarse sand and rocks. But what he saw now retained little resemblance to what he remembered.

The entrance poles stood, but the sign had been long rotted off, and as he shuffled the peat and gravel, saw its remnants. Looking out, the cabins were in a similar state of decay, hastily marked scenes with colorful ribbon have been all but collapsed. The lake.. the lake was in a remarkable state of preservation, but there was no telling what lurked beneath its waters now. It was blackened in the night, only lit by the moon which gave it its titular crystal-clear sheen that earned it the name. The dock was similarly rotted, like the cabins.   
Michael rummaged in his backpack and stood, changing his comfortable sneakers he’d been driving in for thick, chunky work boots. He didn’t want to step on something unsavoury. He felt the boards of the first cabin shift under his weight as he stepped up the rotted stairs, taking note of the noise that it made. This was his cabin, the wooden bunks long removed to make way for the remnants of a gruesome scene. Blood splatters had sunk into the wood, a clear, dark stain likely forever to marr its surface. They didn’t even find the body, because it had been moved and hidden so well, or completely rid of. They suspected the lake, but even a full examination of it revealed nothing. That was the scary part; that they knew something horrible happened but had covered it up, or perhaps they didn’t even know for themselves. Michael explored the scene, digging around fallen rooftops and ceiling beams, but found nothing. He found nothing because he didn’t know what he was looking for. Perhaps it was closure, or justice, or something. He wanted someone to answer for his friend, and he figured the camp was a place to get it. He stormed out of the cabin in a sudden rage.

Someone here. Someone’s here. But he knew why they were here, he had for years and it was routine by now. They came, they hurt, they died because of it.  
He tried not to think about it, but found himself doing it anyways. Momma had told him to, and so he did. He trusted her, why shouldn’t he? She was the only one who loved anymore. The only other one left him a long time ago. Jason could almost feel the presence. It was even sort of supernatural, that he just had a sense of who was there. But this was his home for years, and nobody would dare desecrate his home, but he was going to wait. They were going to learn.  
He began setting up traps: bear traps, rope hangings, and gutted animals.   
Distractions were all that he needed, and the job could be finished fairly quickly. The weapon he’d been using for years he held in his hand now; a deeply eroded and almost red silver machete, and he felt safe as he held its curved leather handle.

As he walked, Michael tied his hair back into a ponytail, which he didn’t do often. But he supposed today was different, as he grabbed a protein bar from his bag and walked to the docks.  
The water was mesmerising, even in the faint morning light it rippled and moved with life. It had taken it just a few years ago. He couldn’t do much more than stare at it as he reconciled. But out of his trance, he heard the sharp shriek of an animal, he thought perhaps an elk or deer. It was quickly muffled, but he heard no gunshot. Bow hunting? Either way, he should probably make his presence known to avoid injury, just in case.   
He edged on the woods, searching for the source of the noise, but never found it again. “Hello?” He called into the woods. “Any hunters, I don’t want any trouble. Not trying’ to steal your spot.. just looking for something..” he figured that was good enough, even though he never heard a reply. But he heard another dying whine before he turned around. The forest around him.. it pulled him into it, into the arms of the forest and the cleansing smell. He remembers it, walking along the no-longer- there paths.

He was already in the camp, but it was a whole different ballpark when he stepped into the forest. This was Jason’s realm, as he was here for years and had plenty of time on his hands. He learned to trap, hunt, shoot,  
and protect. That’s what he did now as he stalked from the shadows, letting the pine trees cover his hulking figure. He watched the man in silence, allowing him to stumble up on the trap.


	5. Pain, Both Physical and Otherwise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trap is stepped into, and a decision immediately regretted.

Michael searched still for the source of the noise, and found it in a heap on the forest floor in front of him. It was a still-heaving young female deer, bereft of antlers. It lay on the floor, a clearly handmade arrow with blue jay fletchings sticking out from its skull. But he had scarcely realized the trouble he was in before it shut its gaping maw. Michael shrieked as the steel jaws of a bear trap closed around his ankles, its rigid design trapping him in place even as he fell to his hands and knees. He brought himself to look at the damage. It was stuck into his boots and ankle, digging through even the military leather craft and let blood drip and seep into his socks. He cried out, biting his lip into shreds and scarcely being able to choke back the pain.

He watched the man turn and squirm on the ground, raising himself onto his elbows from his back. Tears streamed from his exposed face, his arms and legs already coated in dirt and leaves from struggling. He advanced, allowing his footsteps to crunch onto the floor as opposed to the quiet stalking he’d been doing earlier. He heard a quiet yelp, a gasp of near laughter when he made his form known. He gripped the machete handle tightly. No running this time, boy. Everyone else runs, but you don’t get to. He won’t trouble himself with that.  
He got close, tilting his view to get a better look at the teenager in front of him. A strong, tall man, almost built like himself was dressed in a mechanic’s jumpsuit, the sleeves tied down to his sides. A military style boot was mangled in the trap, a crown of blood seeping through the tears. Further up, a black shirt was fitted comfortably to the man’s chest with a spiky logo that Jason didn’t recognize.  
He was sort of.. pretty, right? He had long hair tied back up into a ponytail. It was a soft, golden color, full of curls even when back.

He didn’t believe what he was seeing. The figure that had walked out of the forest was a huge, hulking brute. Wearing a stitched military-hunting jacket, cargo pants and very clearly steel toed boots, whoever this was is a force of reckoning. But perhaps the most frightening thing was the hockey mask on his face, and the massive machete held passively at the side. Michael instinctively pulled away, even as the stranger lowered himself down, looking right at him. But what Michael saw looking into the mask hitched in his throat.  
Blue eyes that he recognized, the lake’s revenge staring back at him.  
“Ja..h. .. Jason?” Michael whispered, his throat now too hoarse to say much else. Michael felt something; his hair came undone from his hair tie, likely from the struggle. It fell onto his face, shimmering gold strands threatening to obscure his already blackening view of the stranger. 

In that moment it clicked for the both of them. Jason’s machete dropped from his grip as he fell to his knees, hands already working against the bear trap, tearing out the trap pins in a feat of brute strength. He gently grabbed between Michael’s boot and the trap, ever so carefully pulling the jaws apart.   
He rarely had a reason to do this, other than to remove whatever animal had died in it. But for once in his life, Jason would save.  
Michael felt like he was going to lose his mind. A billion thoughts ran through his head as his heart threatened to jump from his chest. His vision blurred, his throat closed on   
him, it seemed as if his body were working only against him in the situation. Jason’s arms then closed around his shoulders, in a crude gesture to help him up. Michael shook his foot free of the trap, mangled and crushed to all hell, but he leaned on Jason for stability. He also seemed to be thinking; his mask shook on his head as he looked about for some sort of physical answer. But realizing that Michael had no way of going anywhere else, he hefted the blonde up, his legs hanging over Jason’s arms. 

Vision filled with blue-black dots, Michael drifted in and out of lulling consciousness as he lay so vulnerable in Jason’s arms. He’s proven he’s more than a threat, trapping and capturing him, killing him as if he were a fly. And the only thing that stopped him was the superficial link between them. It’s because they were friends that he didn’t die on this day. He saw the sky, intermittent between the great trees that stretched far above his and Jason’s head. It was suddenly differentiated by a lowered step into a cabin, although this one was much different. It was built off of a shed, but primarily junk and what looked like entire sections of cabins ripped off their hinges. Did Jason build this? But that had to be the answer, as he lowered Michael onto a metal framed bed, it's sheets were surprisingly clean, but sections were ripped and torn out. Michael heaved up into a sitting position, examining his ankle, but Jason pressed a firm hand to his chest and forced him to lay back down.

For the first time, Michael got a good look at his surroundings as Jason went outside to retrieve something. He was laying on a bed in the corner; the floor was bare dirt and wood plank, something like mud dried in the cracks. The roof and walls were similarly fitted with sheets of metal and wood. He had also noticed that Jason retrieved his machete, it sat in an empty chair which was missing a leg. A table beside it was home to a collection of mangled rags and torn fabric.  
He saw Jason return through the door, holding a massive ceramic bucket. Michael recoiled slightly when he let it drop to the floor beside him, and as he rolled up the sleeves of his jacket. Dipping a free hand into the bucket, Jason covered his hands with some wet and rather slimy substance. He pressed the cool liquid firmly into Michael’s ankle after removing his boots with his other hand. It was gross, but almost immediately relieved some of the pain. He continued the motion several more times, until there was an even coating of the stuff over Michael’s ankle, and returned the boot to him.

Jason got up once more and lingered in the doorway, looking back at Michael. He raised his hands, and made a sign like pulling back a bowstring before stepping out of the shack.  
Michael guessed he knew what that meant. He'd retrieve that deer he killed; no sense in letting fresh meat go to waste. But the sign made him wonder. How long has it been since Jason had spoken a word at all? What happened in the seven years he'd been on his own in the woods? He clearly learned survival skills, and had plenty of time to perfect them. But the vicious way he had protected his territory also struck a chord with Michael. Those murders back then; that had to be him, right? It's not like anyone else could have.

He had lay there for a while between sleep and consciousness, the sun now high up in the morning air, hard but possible to discern through the trees. That's right, Jason was off, likely preparing the meat. There was some sort of dining hall or cafeteria type building on the property, if Michael's memory served him correctly. He wondered just how many things Jason had at his disposal, made by him or left by the campers.  
He sat up from the bed and stretched his neck to the side, but that viewpoint let him catch something he hadn't before. It was what looked like the entrance to another room, off to the side of the main one. There was a door in its way, handmade and left slightly ajar.  
Now, what was in there? Michael deliberated in his head for a few minutes, glancing at the door before making a decision.

He shifted his ankle from the bed, still painful but in a better condition. It took great effort to move his weight in a way that avoided contact with the ground, but he eventually succeeded, using the wall and bed frame as a crutch. He peered in, just enough through the door to get a glimpse.  
The difference in light is what took him by surprise. Unlike the rest of the shack, it had no windows, and was very, very tightly constructed. The smell was next, a mix of rotting flesh and blood that made Michael gag, almost throwing up. He pressed the door gently, opening it more to see the rest. Candles adorned a central figure, on a wood and rock slab that reminded him of an altar or shrine.  
Illuminated by the light was a near mummified human head, which sat on top of a dingy blue-grey sweater.

The door behind him slammed open with a force that made Michael lose his balance, staggering to the ground. He groaned as he was forced to put pressure on his leg before falling. Jason stomped towards him, grabbing him tightly by the shoulders. “Jason! Jason, I'm sorry! I really didn't-” Michael sputtered out before the brute forcibly returned him to his bed, where he sat in a mix of fear and shock.   
And for the first time in years, Michael heard him speak.

“No..” he coughed. If it seemed he had difficulty speaking before, it was nothing compared to the attempt he made now, heaving and muffled beneath the mask. “Not. In there.” He pointed to the room. Jason did not want him in that room, and he made it quite obvious. He lingered in the room, almost visibly angry, as he stalked over to where his machete was resting and took it.   
A tear quietly dropped from Michael's face, and he reached up to wipe it away, but Jason turned and came towards him, and he froze in his motion. With his free hand, Jason roughly brushed away the tear from Michael's face. His touch was devoid of the pleasant heat that it had contained before, as it became cool and rough on Michael's face, smearing dirt onto his cheek. He made eye contact with Michael, frustrated still, but somehow calm and composed, all within his eyes. Jason nodded.


	6. A Shared Meal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long to drop! I've been trying to think of ideas and i've been having a bit of a creative slump lately. Here's a domestic-sort of chapter while you wait for the next ~tension-filled~ moment.
> 
> d(ouo)

Jason pulled away and swiftly stalked from the cabin, slightly outside of the cabin before he returned. Slung over his shoulders were the limp remnants of a deer, skinned so thoroughly that no meat remained. Michael watched as he set it upon the table and returned with two great, industrial buckets clasped in his hands. He couldn't suppress a grimace as he saw the tops overflowing with guts, internals and meat. Of course, he knew where his food came from, but it was still gross to watch the process, especially so close to him. Jason seemed to open a small trap door, lifting a plank of wood up to reveal a hole. This he lowered the bucket of viscera into, shutting the plank tightly upon it.  
He turned to Michael, shaking bits of blood from his hand and offering it to him. He took Jason’s hand as he hefted him up, carefully balancing Michael’s weight with the bucket on his other side. However stiff Michael attempted to keep his ankle, he still could not pull that weight as he depended on Jason to keep him relatively upright. 

They walked from the cabin a distance, Jason keeping a careful eye at all around him. So much so that he almost seemed jumpy, if he were capable of it. A familiar scene opened up before him, as Michael recognized the firepit. A simple stone structure was now home to full logs as benches, hooks strung up from the branches of the surrounding trees. The constructed goring hooks seemed almost religious, with how well they were taken care of.   
Well, they did provide a method of food, as Jason’s many professions now included hunter. Jason now guided him to one of the closely-seated log benches and took his weight off. Another thing he noticed upon survey was a spit set up on the fire. It was only a thin set of metal rods, which looked as if they’d been broken from piping or gates.

Jason dug in his pockets, pulling out a red-branded lighter. There was already a stack of cut logs in the pit, so he needed only light it. The new flame crept up on the wood, quickly setting it alight. He was watching it intently, even as he set large chunks of meat on the rods. He sat back, grabbing an uneven rod that was poking from the pit and as he drew it back, it seemed to be a fireplace poker. Michael wasn’t really paying attention as Jason jabbed indifferently the at fire.  
He wondered what kind of conversation would be most appropriate, but looked and found none. What do you talk about with a woodland serial killer who keeps bodies in his backroom? It didn’t help that Jason couldn’t talk much either, either from mis or disuse of his vocal chords. He guessed the latter.

After a long silence in the crackling of the wood, Michael tried something. “So.. Have you.. Have…” Although he knew what he was going to say, he had some difficulty getting it out. Jason stopped him with a flat palm, and turned to point at himself. “Fine.” He uttered.   
Well, that’s one question out of the way. Fine? For seven years in the unused camp? But maybe it was the truth. A half-truth, but Michael was glad he was ‘fine’ anyways. “Uh… What happened here, exactly? On the news, they said…” he asked, before fading into silence. Jason looked him over a couple of times before answering in his little-worded manner. “Mom, came back to camp. Angry for me, she kill’d all coun.. counselors.” He ruminated on his story for a moment before continuing. “They kill her, but I get them. They’r gone now.” Jason concluded. To hear the account on the news was one thing, but to hear it from the brooding killer himself was quite something. He had been making vague gestures the entire time, but as they fell back into his lap they were unoccupied. He turned away, now still, watching the fire. 

It wasn’t too long after that when he decided the meat was cooked thoroughly, and he returned the lumps to its bucket. Something inside Michael stirred. He was completely alone for so many years, and the ones who returned did nothing but harm him. Granted, his mother was a murderer, but she was the only one who loved him yet, and now she was dead.  
Michael now thought he knew what rested in Jason’s back room, remembering the dingy blue handmade sweater Mrs. Voorhees wore on their only meeting. 

Jason tilted his head to either side before asking “Where…?”   
“Oh, ah…” Michael looked around for a moment. “Anywhere's fine.” He said, presuming Jason was asking where he'd like to eat.   
Something about that was too polite to Michael. He could murder without batting an eyelash but still retained his manners? He supposed that was a good thing, though.  
It shook him out of his morbid daydream, but he knew that his present wasn’t too much better of a situation.   
He assessed his choices. Of course, Michael had been an incredibly intelligent thinker his entire life. He learned quite quickly and locked information in at a rapid pace. It made him the model student of all of his classes, guaranteed to get into pretty much any college he wanted to. But college wasn’t for him. He wanted something more for his little sister.   
Oh shit. Laurie.. Judie… It had suddenly dawned on him that there was in fact a faction of his family that he cared for. His younger and older sister, the doe-eyed Laurie and raven headed Judith. He supposed his parents were present and supervising them. Well, one of them. Judith moved away long ago, but Laurie was a young teenager of fourteen. He hadn’t even really said goodbye to her, which he regretted now.

A deep pit filled his stomach as the realization of what to come was upon Laurie. He hated leaving her alone, especially with their father. He was an insufferable wretch of a father and alcoholic, and oftentimes, Michael was her only protection. He felt his fingernails dig into his hands, the delicately maintained nails now dirty and crusted with blood.   
He didn’t even realize Jason had moved away and now loomed very closely over him, as if he were trying to read his mind. He was actually now tugging on Michael’s shirt sleeve, pulling him up with a fell swoop. Maybe it’s just more courteous to eat at the house. 

As he returned he realized that ‘house’ was probably too generous a term, as he looked on its exterior for the first time. It was a shabby and mangled thing, with very high arched doorways and metal haphazardly nailed into its thick boards. He guessed it was home anyways, and there was no way he was saying anything about it. Clambering over to his now rather comfortable spot in the corner, Michael could do little more than think. He thought about Judith. He wondered about her life, and how she was doing. He wondered if Laurie was alright, sleeping in her bed as if nothing was happening halfway across the country. His thoughts eventually quieted as they returned to Jason. He had somehow been one of the kindest presences in his life as it was recently. The only other force he recognized these feelings from was his mother, and Laurie. 

He knew what that was, and wasn’t quick to admit it to himself. And of this, he quieted his thoughts, or at least tried to.   
Michael must have spaced out during his walk and thought process, as a barely-steaming tupperware bowl sat on the bed with him, alongside a thin metal pronged fork. It was now that he started to wonder what the hell was out there. How much of that stuff did campers leave behind? Clearly enough to make a living off of.   
He didn’t even need to wonder about missing persons. They were surely gone without a trace.

Michael ate his fill. Venison was good, huh? He rarely had the stuff. It almost tasted like the burger joint back home, if he really thought about it. Ah, anyways, it was good and didn’t much need any sides, it was pretty flavorful on its own. He finished and set the bowl on the rickety side table next to him.   
It was almost as if he could feel the sun set, as Jason seemingly materialized from the conjoined room. He sat opposite Michael, on a wooden chair adjoined next to a table. His posture relaxed but shoulders still straight, he handled the side of the machete and dryly scrubbed it with a scrap of thick fabric. Flakes of blood, mud and dirt fell off all at once in layers, revealing the shimmering surface of the gleaming metal instrument. Looking at it closer in the dying light, it held a pale pink sheen to it.

“Whoa..” Michael breathed out. Jason turned his head in acknowledgement, but seemed fixated on the tool’s cleanliness. “Where’d.. you, ah..” Michael realized it was an awkward question to ask, but he figured everything he’s said so far was awkward.  
“Mom’s.” Jason returned, without a glance.  
Michael contemplated that for a moment, but decided not to press. Silence permeated the air after that, and fog returned to Michael’s mind. 

“...Jason..?” Michael asked again, softer. He turned his head, eyes barely visible from beneath the mask.

“I’m sorry.” Michael uttered, his voice only growing softer as he watched. Jason had stopped cleaning, and his machete fell softly from his grip, and it lodged in the dirt. His deep, blue eyes were wide with some hidden emotion, now glassy. He stood, lumbering in his form, and trotted over to Michael’s place on the bed. He reached out, even as Michael recoiled, and clasped his gigantic arms near-over Michael’s entire body. Michael attempted to shift over, and somehow succeeded in allowing Jason to lay next to him. Although it seemed his touch was cold, his entire body was nearly as warm as a heater. Michael now faced him, and his face was so close.   
He heard a sharp whimper from the hulk in front of him, surprised that such a skittish noise could come from him, as it was now clear that he was crying.  
He offered his gentlest touch, but didn’t know what to say. He figured he need only be there for his friend.   
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you before.” He thought to himself.


End file.
